by J. M. Hofer
Taliesin bowed his head in respect. “Yes. The winds have been calling me north. If it still be your pleasure, I’d like to stay in Rheged a few nights.” He hated to lie, but could not tell Urien the true reason he had come. Arhianna’s marriage to a Saxon had to remain a secret.
Urien swatted a hand in his direction. “A few nights? That won’t do. Stay for a moon, why don’t you? You’ll be my honored guest. You should know, your name is well-known in all the taverns here in Rheged. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone mutter, ‘well, he’s no Taliesin’ after a performance by the bards who’ve come after you.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Poor bastards. They’ve no chance here. None at all. And with all these rumors about Octa returning to slaughter us all, I need good music in my hall more than ever.”
Taliesin felt his cheeks flush and smiled. “Well, in that case, I look forward to playing in your hall tonight.”
“Good.” Urien nodded. “Let’s make it a short wait.” He motioned to a few benches by the fire. Taliesin took a seat, and Urien sat down across from him. “In truth, you couldn’t have shown up at a better time. We’re in dire need of some poetry.”
“It seems Rheged prospers, in spite of the lack of poetry.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, my young bard.” Urien sighed and stared at the ground, as if it had suddenly become impossible for him to hold his head up. “Unrest with the Saxon settlements keeps spilling across my borders. The bastards never give me a moment’s peace. I’m forever sending my men to investigate, intervene, or, when they give us no other choice, simply wipe them out. And if they happen to leave us alone for a spell, which is rare, we’ve still got those raging Picts to deal with. It never ends.” When he raised his face, a half-smile had replaced his frown. He leaned over and gripped a pitcher of ale in his huge paw, gestured for Taliesin to hand over his drinking horn, and filled it. “So, rest up, and return at sundown to weave your magic for us weary northerners, eh? Help us forget our troubles awhile.”
Taliesin chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”
Urien nodded and stood up. “I’m sure even your worst would do us all good. I must take my leave, but I’ll send someone in to see to your needs.”
“Thank you.” Taliesin rose to his feet and bowed his head.
Urien gripped his shoulder in farewell and left him.
Taliesin waited until he could no longer hear the king’s heavy footsteps and then sat back down. Alone for the moment, he stared into the fire, anxious about the extensive unrest Urien had mentioned.
***
Taliesin played that night to a jubilant crowd. He thought back on the few moons he had wandered playing in the village taverns of Rheged so long ago. The rough generosity of its people had been more than welcome after the lonely moon he had spent in Caledonia. The cold nights he had spent beneath the evergreen boughs of the Fir, longing for Nimue, were still sharp in his memory. How different things are now. The Fir had been a harsh teacher. Endure, he had demanded of him. You must endure. Little had he known how small that trial would look compared to the one he now faced.
Yet, his playing had not suffered. If anything, it inspired more rapture than ever, opening every heart and loosening every tongue in the hall. He made good use of both throughout the evening, plumbing everyone for news of their villages or skirmishes with the Saxons. He listened carefully for any mention of Jørren, Ragna, or their people, but, to his disappointment, they were never mentioned. He received many invitations to visit other villages and play, some closer to the Saxon settlements. He accepted, planning to work his way east, village by village, until he found Arhianna.
A few mornings later, he told Urien he would be continuing on.
“What? You’ve only just arrived!” Urien protested with a frown.
“I’m afraid I must.”
Urien regarded him with unblinking eyes. “Tell me why you’ve truly come to Rheged.”
Taliesin felt caught off guard, and stuttered a bit about an urge to roam the countryside.
Urien held up a hand to quell his discomfort. “Stop, please. You’re a terrible liar. You asked a good number of my men last night about the Saxon clans. Are you here at Uthyr’s bidding? I’ve no quarrel with it if you are, though I must ask myself why Uthyr does not ask me directly for news.”
Deceit ate at Taliesin like rot. He longed to tell Urien the truth. Can I trust him? Perhaps I can. I want to. He took a deep breath, shuffling through all the possible consequences as quickly as he could. He decided to risk it—at least, partially. “There is someone I care for who was taken by Saxons. I’ve come north to find her.”
Urien’s brows flew up into his receding hairline. “Gods, why didn’t you just say so?”
Taliesin shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “You’ve enough troubles to deal with. I couldn’t bother you over the welfare of one woman.”
Urien furrowed his brow. “Who is she?”
“A woman I grew up with. You don’t know her.” Taliesin prayed Urien would not ask her name, or he would have no choice but to lie once more.
“And so, you were going to skip off into Saxon territory with your golden harp to seek her out alone?” Urien turned his palms up. “Please, Taliesin. You’re too clever for such a foolish quest. Even if you did find her, how the hell were you planning to free her?” Urien shook his head, looking at Taliesin as if he were a child of ten. “You’ll end up dead, or worse, a slave yourself.”
Taliesin felt like a fool but stood his ground regardless. “The details I leave in the hands of the gods. All I know is I must find her.”
“The gods, eh?” Urien suppressed a chuckle. “Well, I admire your faith, but I’m more of a practical man. And I like you, Bard.” He pointed at him to make his point. “I think what you have to offer the world is worth a thousand warriors. Though it may not show, I have a soft place in my heart for beautiful things. And you, a master of my two favorites—music and poetry. Well, that’s a lie. Women first, then poetry and music, but at my age, I find myself enjoying the latter a bit more. In any case, I don’t want you dead.”
“I don’t want me dead, either.”
Urien stared at him, pulling thoughtfully at the salty whiskers on his strong chin for a moment. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “What would you say to this—I’ll give you a pair of hunting dogs, weapons, provisions, and a reliable scout who knows far more about the north than anyone you spoke with last night. In return, once you find this poor lass, you return here and be my Pen Bairth for at least a year. Bring the woman with you, if you like. If she’s enough to captivate the likes of you, she’s welcome here.”
Taliesin jumped at the offer without thinking. “I accept.”
Urien raised his hands. “Be forewarned, the man whose services I offer you is not the most pleasant company, but he fights like a bear and knows this land better than anyone alive. Claims he’s descended from the Tuatha de Danann, giant gods from Eire. I don’t know about them being gods, but I’ll not contest the man’s a giant.”
“Taller than Lord Bran of the Oaks?”
Urien chuckled. “You’ll see.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gawyr
“Ah, he’s arrived!” Urien winked at Taliesin and stood up from his chair, moving to the window of his hall that overlooked the gates into the fortress. He leaned out the window and beckoned. “Come and see.”
Taliesin joined him at the window and peered outside. Men were pulling the gates open. A moment later, the largest man Taliesin had ever seen strode through and glanced up at the window. He raised his arm in greeting, but did not smile.
Urien gave his visitor a satisfied nod and waved him through. Then he turned and put an arm around Taliesin’s shoulders. “Now, come and meet a proper giant, lad.”
Taliesin did not want to disappoint him, so did not mention he already knew a proper giant. There was no point in dampening the king’s mood. He wondered how Tegid fared, and what e
xotic wares he might have in the hold of the Ceffyl Dŵr at that moment.
Urien led the way down to the banquet hall, where servants were rushing to and fro, laying out heaping platters of food. Urien took his place and motioned to a chair nearby.
Taliesin took a seat, his anticipation mounting as he stared at the open doors of the hall. He did not have to wait long. Soon, an enormous boot appeared, and a man the size of a tree ducked his head under the archway and entered the hall. Once through, he looked up carefully, judging the height of the ceiling. Seeing it was sufficiently high enough, he rose to his full stature.
Taliesin could not help but grin. Great Mother! He’s far bigger than Tegid Voel! Though he had seen many a wonder in his otherworldly travels, he reveled most in those that lived within his own world. Gawyr stood at least twelve feet tall, perhaps thirteen, with broad shoulders and long limbs. He reminded Taliesin of the Fir he had thought of so often as of late—regal, stoic, and bushy. Also, like a fir, he was fragrant, but not in a good way. The stench of him reached the table before he did.
Urien looked up at his guest. “Lord Gawyr, my good friend!” He motioned to the table. “Come! Let us eat and drink together!”
Gawyr smiled for the first time as he lumbered to the table, revealing a row of wide, yellow teeth. Two heavy benches had been set up for him, side by side. He sat down gingerly, testing their strength. When they did not give way, everyone let out a sigh of relief. Servants rushed over with two pitchers of ale. One for Gawyr, who drank straight from the pitcher itself, and the other to serve Urien and Taliesin.
Urien motioned toward Taliesin. “This is my future court bard, the young master Taliesin. He needs help finding a woman taken by the Saxons. I would like you to help him and bring them both back alive.”
Gawyr raised his brows from behind the pitcher and set it down. He pulled a large platter of meat towards him. “Any idea where this woman is, Bard?”
Taliesin marveled at the baritone, resonant quality of Gawyr’s voice, thinking of what a rich tone it would add to his favorite ballads. The walls nearly hummed with it. “No.”
“How long since they took her?”
“Just over two moons, I believe.”
Gawyr glanced at him sideways while he worked the meat off a large leg bone and stripped it clean. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his hands on his trousers, finished his ale, and set the pitcher on the edge of the table for the servant maiden to refill. Only then did he fix his deep-set, sallow eyes on Taliesin in earnest. They were brownish-gold in color, half-hidden by thick lids, dark curly hair and fleshy crow’s feet. “This is big country. Lots of villages. Lots of Saxons. And every one of them has a spear or blade they’d love to shove in your heart.”
Urien nodded. “And that’s why he needs you, my friend.”
Gawyr helped himself to a haunch of boar. “So, Bard, tell me about this woman you’re looking for.”
Taliesin took a moment to consider how much would be safe to reveal. “She’s from Mynyth Aur. A bit younger than I am. Very tall for a woman. Bright copper hair that falls nearly to her waist in curls. Her eyes are a piercing blue—like the sky.”
Gawyr chuckled. “It’s clear you’re a bard, lad, spewing poetry like that. Sounds like she’s a beauty.”
“She is.”
Gawyr sighed, his smile fading. He looked over at Urien. “With respect, my good friend, this is a fool’s errand. Two moons?” He wrinkled his brows into a doubtful arch, shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry to say this, but the poor lass is likely dead by now. And if she’s not,” he glanced back at Taliesin, “you can bet your sweet harp she wishes she were.”
Taliesin glared at Gawyr, his chest tightening in defiance of his heartless words. “I’ll play the fool alone, then.” He turned to Urien. “All I ask are the dogs and provisions you offered. I’m no giant, but I’m more resourceful than I look.”
Gawyr raised his hairy brows and frowned. “You’d better be, Bard.”
***
The following morning arrived grey and sour. Taliesin’s head ached and his nerves twinged against the daylight, for he had not slept more than a few hours. The sound of women weeping in the dark had plagued him in his dreams again, causing him to wake in a pool of sweat. He had not been able to fall asleep again afterward. He pulled himself out of bed, dressed, washed, ate the breakfast brought to him, and met Gawyr outside the stable. Everything Urien had promised was there, including Gawyr, who said nothing to him until they were outside the city gates.
“Don’t know how the hell Urien talked me into this,” he growled.
Taliesin made no attempt to hide his irritation. “Don’t come then,” he snapped. “Go back to wherever you’ve come from. I’ll find her myself.”
Gawyr, who strode beside him at a pace matching Taliesin’s horse, looked down at him and scoffed. “You wouldn’t last two days.”
Taliesin’s blood rose in defiance. “If survival depended solely on strength, only the bear, boar and stag would roam the earth.”
Gawyr deigned a half-smile. “Clever, aren’t you? So what manner of creature are you, then, lad? A fox? You’ll have to be, to get in and out of a Saxon village and find your woman without being seen or heard. And you’d best be able to become a hawk after that, because you’ll need to fly her out—the two of you certainly can’t outrun them.”
Taliesin waved his hand in a dismissive arc. “Believe whatever you want. I don’t care. But if you’re coming, spare me your complaints.”
Gawyr stopped in his tracks and glared down at him. “How about this, then? I owe Urien my life, and he’s asked me to bring you back alive—so that’s what I’m going to do. And I’ll damn well say anything I like about it, you skinny, ungrateful harp-mauler!” He strode off in a huff, grumbling curses under his breath.
Harp-mauler? Taliesin could not help letting a half-smile slip across his face.
***
They spent the next few days in silence, for the most part, Gawyr walking out in front, Taliesin riding behind, each lost in his own thoughts. It gave Taliesin hours to ponder his enormous companion, the human Fir, enchanted with the ability to pull up its roots and roam the earth. What would it feel like to move through the world at such a height?
As the long day drew to a close, Gawyr pointed toward the dusky horizon and turned around to look at him. “See that?”
Taliesin looked down into the valley stretching out before them and spied a small village along a river, a few miles off. “Yes.”
“That’s where I’ll be. Got a few friends down there I’ve not called on in some time. I’ll take the dogs and see they get fed. You stay here. Find a place to spend the night and don’t call attention to yourself. If you light a fire, keep it small.” He pointed to a few wooded hills. “Plenty of cover over there. I’ll find you once I’ve gotten what I came for.” Gawyr did not wait for him to reply before lumbering off. He whistled at the dogs, but they remained by Taliesin’s side. He tried once more, but, still, the dogs did not follow him. “Suit yourselves, curs! Not much to eat out here!” Gawyr growled, waving his hand behind him.
Taliesin stroked the dogs’ heads, delighted by their display of loyalty. He watched Gawyr disappear into the twilight and then headed for the hills, horse and hounds in tow. He led them into the cover of the trees and found a good place to observe the village. He tethered Chrysgod to a tree and pulled an apple and a few vegetables out of his pack. “Something to eat?” he asked, holding them forth. Chrysgod’s lips quivered in anticipation, reaching for his master’s offerings. Taliesin chuckled and stroked his muzzle. The dogs looked up at him with round, expectant eyes, sitting at his heels like statues. What Gawyr did not know was that he had packed well for the animals. Taliesin winked at the hounds and gave them the bones he had been saving for them. Elated, they snatched their prizes up in their teeth and settled down by Taliesin’s feet to gnaw on them. “What should I call you two?” he pondered. “You’re a sweet lass, freckled as
a maiden from Eire. How about Braith?” She glanced up from her bone for but a moment, and Taliesin took it as agreement. He turned to the male. “You’re easy. Nice, red coat. I’ll call you Griffin.” He smiled, grateful for his canine companions, for he did not care for Gawyr all that much.
Now, what about me? he wondered as he peered into his pack, assessing his options. Not wanting to risk a fire, he settled on a hunk of bread. He squatted against the trunk of the tree, gazing down at the village while he ate, watching for any sign of trouble. Minutes stretched into an hour, but all that emerged from the huts were blue-grey columns of smoke. Then, with eerie swiftness, the wind changed and the smoke drifted toward the trees, moving through the moonlit night like ghostly sentinels. A strange sensation came over him as they approached, as if they had been sent to find and expose him. He mumbled a series of protective spells Islwyn had taught him, invoking the Great Mother and the spirit of the tree he sat beneath. He kept watch awhile longer, but heard nothing but faint voices, disturbed only by the occasional peal of laughter or dog barking in the distance. At last, he surrendered to the night and closed his eyes. Show me how to help you, Arhianna. Send me a dream I can use. You know how. I can do nothing with tears.
***
Taliesin woke at dawn, but no dreams of any consequence had come to him. He knew such things could not be forced but felt disappointed just the same. Well, at least I slept through the night. There’s that to be thankful for.
Now that dawn had arrived and night had brought no trouble with it, his apprehensions about lighting a fire were gone. He gathered some kindling and soon had one crackling. He pulled a log up beside it and warmed his bones while he waited for Gawyr to return with whatever news he had managed to gather the night before.
Within the hour, the first sounds of morning began floating up from the village. One by one, columns of smoke rose up from the holes in the roofs. Soon, the village came alive. People scurried about gathering wood, carrying water, or tending to the animals, while children and dogs ran around at their heels. He watched the activity for some time and then combed his eyes through the countryside around the village. There was no sign of Gawyr—either in the village or around it, and that troubled him. For all their differences, he and his massive companion had at least one thing in common—they rose at dawn.